


When the Garden Roses are dead

by Lluvia185



Category: Broadchurch, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: 8 years after Doomsday, AU: Pete's world, Angst, Broadchurch S2, Broadchurch spoilers S1&S2, Comfort/Angst, Depression, Eventual Romance, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hardy is not conected to the Doctor, No reunion, Post-Episode AU: s02e13 Doomsday, dimension cannon failure
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-09-23 12:55:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9658298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lluvia185/pseuds/Lluvia185
Summary: Rose bump into a man she thought she would never see again.//She knew it wasn’t him. They were different persons, different beings really. No connections whatsoever — she had looked into him — apart from having the same face, the same body, they hadn’t anything in common.//





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started to write this fic last summer, I have written four chapters and I plan for this to be seven or so chapters.  
> It's unbetaed, so any mistake is mine and English is not my first language, so if you find any you can contact me her or in my tumblr: @lluvia185. Hope you enjoy this fic.

# 

 

She knew it wasn’t _him_. They were different persons, different beings really. No connections whatsoever — she had looked into him — apart from having the same face, the same body, they hadn’t anything in common.

Oh, she had thought he _was_ , like for 5 minutes after bumping into him.

Three days ago [Rose](http://www.polyvore.com/court_day/set?id=194834755) was walking across the Wessex Court lobby looking for judge Brook’s office, so he’d granted a search warrant for a Torchwood case, when she stumbled onto someone.

“Sorry mate” She apologised quickly, automatic, not even glancing at whoever she had run into.

“Look to the bloody way ye’re walkin’” an angry voice laced with a thick Scottish brogue replied her.

“Well same to—” She raised her head, bothered by the rude answer. The rest of her cheeky reply died in her throat. She gaped at the man in front of her aghast, shocked to her very core. She may have seemed like a proper loony, because he looked irritated under her unwavering stare.

He grumbled something and skirted around her to walk away. Watching him leave, sparked enough life into Rose to run after him and grab his hand. It was like _his_ and yet different, warm where his had been cold, coarse where his had been soft, new. She had asked anyway.

“Doctor?” Her voice rimmed with hope, yet broken. He had turned to her, surprised by her touch, then annoyed again when he realised it was her, and lastly with a tired expression clouding his brown eyes.

“Ye’ve mistaken me with somebody else.”

“Am I?” She asked deflated, a hint of desperation on her voice. He must have spotted it, because his answer was softer, almost compassionate.

“I’m no doctor, just a copper.”

“Sorry.” Rose whispered, letting his hand go. She felt cold then, sick.

“Sure.” She heard him say, though she was already walking away, sprinting towards the loo.

Rose threw up all her breakfast as soon as she reached the first stall. Hot tears rolled down her face and she didn’t know if it was because of the physical pain or because of her aching heart.

Of course it wasn’t the Doctor, he was lost to her, forever. She had tried for so long to go back, but she had only achieved broken hopes try after try, until she had been broken too. She was never going to go back; she will never see him again. Rose closed her eyes desperately, trying to control a new wave of nausea and failing.

She retched again though it wasn’t anything else in her stomach. She ended up shaking, cold sweat swept across her brow and back, beneath her light shirt. Her body had slumped down on the tile floor. She pressed her hands’ heels against her eyes.

_‘God, am I being punished?’_

She had been doing good for the last two years, not good enough, not brilliantly, but fine. She had been trying, really trying to do what everyone wanted, “to move on”. She hated these three words so much — she had had to move away, to get away from her family and friends — in order to escape from them.

When after five years of trying to make the dimension cannon work, the project has been shut down, every last of them had expected her to forget him, and all her crushed hopes and to _bloody move on_. Not one of them had realised that her mourning hadn’t started at that beach in Norway, that in fact it started then. Instead, they keep saying that five years was enough time to get over a bloke, even if it was as special as the Doctor.

In the end she understood that if she wanted to snap out of her misery, she had to put some distance between them and herself. It had been so bloody hard — not to move away, that had been maybe too easy. She had asked her boss for a position in Cardiff, and then told her mum and Pete that she needed some space to get back on her feet. Pete had taken better than Jackie, who thought Rose ought to have them close to do it, rather than noticed that she was became suffocated by their pressure. — what had been actually tough, was to find enough strength or care not to cry every night into sleep and to get up every morning.

She had become better at it lately; she had been with her family last Christmas. Tony had been visiting her just two months ago, they had been to the zoo, she had laughed.

Her thoughts got back to the man she had just run into. Who was he? She _knew_ it wasn’t the Doctor, but had he a connection to him? Or was he just a cruel joke due to the limited human genetic pool?

She ran her hands over her hair, pulling it away from her face. She had to pull herself together, she couldn’t fall apart in a public loo. She had spotted some local press on her way in that morning, by no means she was going to let them take a picture of her in her current state.

A timid rap at the door interrupted her musings. She was fairly sure nobody had entered the toilet after her, so whoever was knocking on the door had been there before her.

That was just great.

“I don’t mean to bother you” a woman voice came through the door. “But are you all right?”

Rose stood up quickly and collected her jacked and bag from the floor, then opened the door. On the other side there was a brunette around her forties, with messy curly hair, dressed in a grey suit. Her eyes were rimmed in red, and she was offering her a kind tentative smile. Rose would bet she had had an awful morning too.

“I-I’m… okay, I think.” The blonde croaked. Her throat felt sore and her mouth tasted like crap. The other woman stepped aside to let her exit the stall, and then followed Rose to the washbasins.

“Oh I get it. I used to have some nasty morning sickness when I was pregnant with my first.” She commented looking at her mirror reflection. Rose snorted at that, as if.

“Yeah, it’s not the case.” She closed the tap and glanced at the woman “Unless it would have been an immaculate conception.” They both chuckled looking at each other on the mirror.

“Ellie.” The brunette offered turning to Rose and extending her hand.

“Rose.”

“Here.” Ellie said before going through her ugly shoulder bag until she fished some mints out. “For the after taste.”

“Umh… Ta.” Rose take one and pop it in her mouth, grateful. She was about to offer her a tea or something in return for her kindness, when a man came in carrying one of those ‘wet floor’ yellow signs in his hand. He didn’t even have to turn around for Rose to know it was the same man from before. She’d almost forgotten how tall he — _the Doctor_ , actually both of them — were.

“What are you…!? Go away! It’s the ladies!” Ellie exclaimed before Rose could get over her surprise. “You can’t come in!”

“You’ve been ages.” He admonished her, utterly unfazed by Ellie’s outburst. Then he caught the sight of Rose beside the brunette and frowned, like he was confused by the presence of another woman in the ladies’ room.

“Sorry” Ellie said turning to her, the blonde’s gaze flickered to her briefly. “He’s my partner, he has no manners.”

“I…” Rose knew she was supposed to say something, but the view of the man was so disturbing that she can’t even think properly. “I… I have to go. Sorry… and umm… thank you for… you know.” She practically ran away from the loo.

“What have you done to her?” Ellie asked to her partner after the blonde left them alone.

“Nothin’” He denied arching her brows at her ridiculous accusation. Ellie didn’t back out, instead she crossed her arms a gave him a pointed look. “Fine, she mistaken me with someone else before, that’s it.” He finally admitted. “Why do ye even care?”

“Run into a celebrity in the toilet distracts me from the possibility of a trial.” She tried to sound nonchalant. Hardy shook his head almost imperceptibly and Ellie figured out he didn’t know. “Didn’t you realise she is Rose Tyler?” She whispered a little bewildered.

“Who?”

“Where have you been living till now, under a rock?” She retaliated. “CEO Peter Tyler’s secret daughter? Come on, she was in the tabloids for bloody months.”

After Miller’s overflow of information, he began to recall a memory of him a Tess watching TV over dinner a few years back and talking about the very topic.

“I’ve never bought the secret daughter story, too elaborated to be real.” He commented shrugging his shoulders.

“Oh, so you actually used to watch telly?” Miller almost smirked.

Hardy grumbled and tried to get back on the topic he was interested in. “Miller, ye know we’re most certainly had to have a trial, ‘ave you?”

“He is guilty, he confessed. Doesn’t he know what he is gonna do to Beth and Mark? To all of us?” She was crying again, but mostly she was just angry.

 

                              ...                                                                          

 

Outside, Rose rested the back of her head against the wall between both toilet rooms and stopped pretending she was texting, so no-one passing by realised she was just plainly eavesdropping.

So he did know who she was, or at less the public version of her. The one the media was fed, and over the one they feasted on for months. She chewed on the matter, as she walked to the parking lot.

Jackie and Mickey’s existence had been easy to justified in this universe. Micky had become Ricky. And on her mother’s case, they only had to make some paper trail to justified an injury and a long recovery that had kept Jackie away for almost a year. Rose on the other hand, had been difficult — like everything to do with her here — She’d never existed in this universe. She could have made up a background and a story pretty easy if it wasn’t for Jackie. Heavens knew, she wasn’t going to pretend they weren’t mother and daughter for the rest of their lives here. But explaining how the Jackie she was impersonating now, had a daughter that nobody knew about it, hadn’t been exactly a walk in the park either. In the end, the ludicrous idea about given her up for adoption in secret and then look for her after she was over eighteen, had been Jackie’s — too many soap operas, if they’ll ask her — But it had worked.

 _Oh,_ the tabloids and the gossip programmes had pounced on it like ravenous hyenas. But nobody had questioned the “veracity of the adoption”. They had, of course, the appropriate documentation forged to support the story, Pete’s connections were pretty handy, and only very few people way too high on the chain of highly classified documents had access to the truth.

Almost eight years later, they were still interested on her. It wasn’t as invasive or annoying as it had been those first months, but she kept coming across random pictures of her from time to time. To be sincere, Rose didn’t understand it, her life was quite dull, no scandalous affairs, crazy parties or any misdemeanour. They usually caught her shopping and if they were very lucky, dinning out with a colleague.

Rose throw her things in the backseat of her rented car and sat on the driver’s, closing the door behind her. She rested her forehead on the wheel for a second, to straight her head. Right, so Ellie Miller was the woman’s name from the loo — the name sounded somehow familiar, but she couldn’t grasp exactly from where — and she had said _he_ was her partner, so _her_ , was from where Rose was going to start her inquiries.

Once she decided on that course of action, she felt a bit more in control. She was going to find out who he was and what connection he had to her Doctor.

 

TBC...


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was intended to post this chapter the last week, but I totally forget. Sorry.  
> Also I was fooling around with Photoshop and I ended making a banner for this fic.

 

 

 

Nothing. There was nothing to connect them both. Rose had searched since the previous afternoon until the wee hours. In addition, she had woken up only after a few hours of sleep, to go through the list of people she had made the previous night. Not the obvious people, not the parents or his ex-wife —he has, _had_ a wife, a teenager’s daughter even— Rose knew better than that. She knew papers were easy, birth’s or marriage’s certificates, even diplomas or academics, can be forged without too much effort if you knew the right people. However, people, acquaintances, that was tough. Sure, you can pay off someone to lie, but not everybody.

When Torchwood concocted her story in this universe they had to resort to trusty people, agents, even some soldiers to vouch for Rose in case some reporter would decide to dig deeper. Someone to say, ‘yes, I went to school with her’, or ‘sure, we were neighbours’.

That was the kind of people she had wanted to talk to, and she had.

Ten minutes ago she had crossed out the last name off her list, she had rung everyone on it, all twelve of them. Friends from high school, classmates from police academy, older partners; everybody remembered him. Apparently after Sandbrooke’s case everyone who had met him at some point, had something to say about DI Hardy.

That was his name, Alec Hardy. She kind of like it, how it rolled off her tongue.

She had found out his name after a quick search of Ellie Miller in Google. Danny Latimer’s murder and a ton of related articles had appeared instantly, Rose realised on that instant, why Ellie’s name had sounded familiar. A brief report from last year named him as the DI in charge of the investigation. She had googled him after, the first result was an interview with him from a local paper, so she clicked on it.

The picture staring back from her laptop screen had felt like a piercing stab through her heart. Reluctantly posing in his dark suit in a sunny beach, the parallelisms were too much for Rose. She had stood up and started a fretted pace across her inn room, until she had calmed down enough to go back to her laptop.

It was very different and yet, too much alike to her last vision of the Doctor. She had read the interview anyway.

Three hours later, she had collected every bit of information about him she could manage without make too much fussing.

 

Rose was now staring back at the list of names placed on her bed. She had talked to people who knew him fifteen and twenty years ago, it was impossible he was related in any way to the Doctor. Twenty years ago the Doctor had had another face and the first and only time he had been in this universe was less than a decade ago.

The blonde laid back on the bed and stared at the ugly lamp hanging from the ceiling. With every possible connection out the table, she only could consider two other options: Coincidence and fate.

The first seemed too much, if the Doctor was here, he could have calculated what were the odds for that, but since she was on her own, she was going to go with one against a trillion. Besides, it was just bloody cruel, but that was her personal opinion. Despite of that, she didn’t like the other option better. Fate, planned design, call it what you want, she hated how it made her feel. Like a pawn playing a game without her consent.

The question now was, what she should go from here? Run and forget, or stay and… and what, really? If this was some kind of signal from fate, from the puppet master, she didn’t know what was expected from her.

Rose thought about the pictures she had seen last night, the ones of the overburden Detective with a defeated expression and gloomy eyes. She rubbed her eyes. He reminded her of the Doctor when she first met him, before the regeneration, moody and dishearten.

She should get some sleep, nothing good could came out of her making hasty decisions while sleep depraved. In any case, she already knew she was going to stick around for a while before she dosed off.

 

\---O---

 

Two days later [Rose](http://www.polyvore.com/court_day_ii/set?id=195306203) was back in the Court building. She had had an unproductive chat with the judge who was supposed to grant the warrant for her case. While walking across the hall, she had spotted both Detectives sat by the café on the second floor. Now she was kind of lurking around them.

Apparently there was no age for feeling like an insecure high school stalker.

She knew thanking Ellie for the bathroom scene was her opening, she just didn’t know how to make the actual approaching.

In the end, the DI met her gaze, irritated, like he had felt observed, which he was. She smiled awkwardly then, and finally approached to the couple.

“Er… hello.” She greeted them adjusting the strap of her laptop bag self-consciously. “I only wanted to say thanks for the other day and… um maybe offer you a tea in return.” Rose addressed Ellie, even if her eyes kept drifting to the man beside her.

“Oh, but it was nothing, you don’t need to—” The other woman began to say.

“I know, but you were kind.” Rose interrupted her shrugging dismissively. Ellie must notice her wandering eyes, because she turned to look at her partner.

“Oh this is my partner. The one with no manners?” The policewoman presented him with a vague gesture. He looked at Ellie slightly amused or maybe annoyed —Rose wasn’t sure— and consequently extended his hand with no eagerness at all.

“Detective Inspector Hardy” He introduced himself. She took his hand trying to suppress a chuckle due to the formal introduction.

“Lieutenant Colonel Tyler, if we’re being ceremonious.” Rose said a bit cheeky. Ellie beamed at that. The DI didn’t seem as amused as his partner, he did look a bit impressed though. He retrieved his hand and Rose noticed again the different tact between his and the Doctor’s.

“Why don’t you join us?” Ellie asked her pointing at the table.

“Oh… I don’t know. I wouldn’t want to butt in, you know?” The younger woman doubted.

“Rubbish.” The brunette rebuffed. “Come on, hop on.” She showed a stool next to them.

Rose hesitated a moment, but Ellie kept urging her with a smile, so she sat compliantly. Hardy watched them over his cup of tea and the look on his face made her feel like she had indeed barged into something.

“So… I didn’t get to ask, but what are you doing here?” The DS asked a little curious.

“Working, actually.” Rose responded after taking a quick sip of her tea. At least that, she could talk about it. “We need a warrant for a case I’m working on. However, the judge was being a painful arse, so I thought I’d came here to make him listen to reason.”

“How is that going?” Ellie inquired with a little smile like she knew already.

“Not good.”

“I’m sorry, what is that ye do?” The DI leant against the table rising his eyes to Rose. She needed a moment to collect her thoughts under the intensity of his gaze mixed with the familiarity of his features.

“I thought…” She assumed he already knew because people usually did. It was refreshing, if she was honest. “Never mind. I work for Torchwood, Wales division.”

“Um… I reckon Torchwood didn’t bother with warrants and such.” He answered. Rose couldn’t figure if he disapproved or envied that.

“They didn’t use to.” She admitted playing with her foam cup. “Now they do. Unless there’s solid evidence of imminent danger to the national security, we’re bound with warrants and proofs like any other force.” Rose knew it sounded like a corporative speech, but she had been one of the few in charge who had fought for Torchwood to be bounded by laws and rules. She had seen what a Torchwood with infinite powers could do and she wouldn’t enjoy a reprise.

“Do you ever take part in interrogations?” Ellie chipped in out of the blue. She and Hardy exchanged a few glances, but Rose couldn’t decipher their meaning.

“As in good cop bad cop, sort of thing?” She asked on return, the brunette smiled encouraging her, however the DI appeared to be a tad vexed. “Sometimes, but mostly I play the no-cop-at-all. Just make them comfortable, keep them talking, you know?”

“Oh, but that’s brilliant.” The policewoman cried out.

“Miller, don’t.” Hardy scolded the DS in a huff.

“Shut up, _sir_.” Ellie dismissed his complains. “You want to make Claire talk; this is how I’m gonna do it.”

“I’m a tad lost here.” Rose chipped in studying the two of them.

“I’m going through an old case of his. The murderers were never apprehended.” The other woman clarified.

“Miller!” The DI growled loudly, but she ignored him.

“There is this witness —Claire— who keep changing her version. We suspect she knows more than she is letting us on.” Ellie explained to Rose. “Hardy wants me to became her friend, take her out, make her talk. I think you could help me, if you want, that’s it.”

“I… I wouldn’t mind,” Rose answered her hesitantly. “But I know nothing of the case or your witness.”

“Sure you’ve heard about Sandbrooke’s” The DS said noncommittally.

A that point, DI Hardy got up waving his hands in the air infuriated.

“For God’s sake, Miller!” he roared.

Rose watched him with mixed emotions. After everything she had read and heard about Sandbrooke, she understood it must be a touchy matter for the DI. Nonetheless his outburst looked a bit excessive, it wasn’t like she was going to tweet about it or something. Lastly but not less intriguing, it revealed a character flaw. The case was closed, but he wasn’t done with it. Was it out of stubbornness, pride or a sense of justice? She didn’t know, but oh, she wanted to.

“The girl who was found murdered and her sitter who was never found?” Rose addressed Ellie, though she could sense Hardy’s eyes on her.

“Yeah.” The brunette nodded a bit surprised by the detailed account of the facts the younger woman had made.

“Is that the case you’re looking over?” The blonde asked just in case. Ellie nodded in reply. “And you think I can help? How?”

“You said it yourself, you play well the no-cop role.” The DS recounted. “I only need for you to go out with me and her tonight. Get hammered, make her comfortable.” She detailed. “Don’t worry I’ll make the questions.”

“That’s it?” Rose look at her and then at her partner who was pacing sulky near them.

“That’s it.”

“Well, then sure. I’ll help you.” The blonde agreed. She fished her cell phone out of her bag. “Here, why don’t you give me your number?”

They exchanged cell numbers and Ellie promised to ring her after the season trial was over for the day. Rose nodded both a goodbye and run off to her car.

She hoped the puppeteer was satisfied.

 

 

TBC...

Guardar


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I debated with myself about including Claire's "resemblance" with Gwyneth from the Dickens episode of Doctor Who, but in the end I deleted the scene because it was inconsequential to the story. Aside from that, there is angst ahead people.   
> No spoiler from season 3, I had the plot of this fic all written before the new season started.  
> *Depiction of depression.*

 

 

[Rose](http://www.polyvore.com/girls_night_out/set?id=194941362) had actually had fun that night, for a while, anyway. Not just “playing” detectives with Ellie, but hanging out with people, having a drink, even dancing a little bit. She had almost forgotten how that feel.

It wasn’t like she didn’t have friends, she did, not a lot but still. It was more like all her friends were work related. She didn't have many opportunities to meet people outside Torchwood, and she didn't have any childhood’s friends beside Mickey, not anymore, not in this universe anyway.

So sue her because she had fun while trying to dig up some dirt on some murder suspect.

Well, she did until Claire began asking questions about previous lovers. Rose had deflected her with a casual “no one that really counts”. Sure, it was a big fat lie, but it wasn’t like neither of them would know. Ellie on the other hand, maybe to gain Claire’s trust or just because she wanted to share, had told them about a former boss, someone to whom she never had confessed her feelings. Her story painfully familiar, ended Rose’s fun for the night. It didn’t matter that she concealed at much as she could, when they hook-up with two blokes, she took her cue and left.

For whatever reason she felt like walking, so she did it. Took the cliffs way and began to wander along the cost, in the general direction of the inn where she was staying. She only stopped when the beach began to reveal itself among the hills.

A turmoil of emotions washed over her.

Shit, she hated beaches so much now. It was a visceral repulsion, a completely irrational feeling.

She stood there for a while, hearing the waves in the distance, then against her better judgment she marched towards the beach.

The heels of her ankle boots sank in the sand right after her second step. The night breeze ruffled her hair and her eyes began to mist over. By the time she got about six feet away from the shore, her vision was completely blurred with unshed tears. The salty humid smell, the compassed pink noise of the tide, everything was too much, too similar, overwhelming bittersweet.

In the end it was just painful.

She only could think ‘ _Why?_ ’ Why couldn’t she have stayed? Why didn’t she tell him before? Why couldn’t she have kept her promise? Have her forever?

Before she realised, her legs gave up and she slumped on the sand crying. Heart-breaking sobs shaking her body, rising over the sound of the waves.

But the more she cried, the more agonizing became the weight over her chest, a vicious grip crushing her heart, like she was choking. The anguish she felt also made her furious. She hated feeling that way, sad and angry, betrayed by destiny or the universe or by whatever power that had trapped her here.

She wanted to have that fantastic life the Doctor had wished for her. She just didn’t know _how_. How to move on, to find something that was even a bit of spectacular as her life had been alongside him.

Her hands were digging in the cold wet sand, clutching it angry and she just lost it.

An enraged animalistic shout ripped her throat, and the grip over her heart lessen just a bit, or so it felt. She did it again, with all her might, as loud as she could, throwing sand around her, punching and screaming, fighting on the outside what was battling on the inside.

She kept screaming until her throat felt sore and the tears came back.

 

\----O----

 

Hardy had lost count of how many nights in a row he had woken up with the same nightmare. Drowning and weeping in the middle of the night. If he had believed in any psychological shit, he might think his trauma wasn’t just about finding Pippa’s body floating on the water, but also about everything that came after that, the total collapse of his life. The nightmare being about drowning both literal and figurative.

But he had never cared much about psychology, so instead he woke up, dressed himself and went out to walk along the cliffs with a tea thermos in his hand.

He contemplated the sky's colours slowly change, trying to keep his mind blank, unoccupied, but usually failing and coming back to the facts, the clues, the lies of the unresolved case that had wreaked his life.

That night he had woken up around three. It wasn’t yet four in the morning when he heard the first scream.

His heart skipped a beat and his hand clutched the pills he always carried with him. His head, however, turned to the direction of the sound. He couldn’t see anyone, but he knew from where it came from.

From the beach where Danny’s body had been found.

The second scream pushed him into action. Dropped the thermos and sprinted to the beach, his long strides compensating his irregular breathing and dangerous heartbeat pace.

By the time he reached the beach, he had heard three more yells.

There was only one person on the beach - a woman – hunched by the shore. His brain quickly analysed the scene. Maybe her attacker had already run off and left her there, but if that would be the case, he must have seen the attacker during his sprint. Except he was certain nobody had left the beach during that span of time.

Hardy was already walking through the sand, when he heard her sobbing. He popped a pill into his mouth in order to calm down his heart-rate, relieved now that he knew nobody was dead.

He slowly approached to her, making his steps louder than usual, so she would hear him, it didn’t seem to be working though. He scrutinised her figure, she was dressed nice, so she probably had gone out that night, her clothes didn’t look messed or teared up in any way, that was good. Nonetheless, she was still crying alone on a deserted beach in the early hours. Call it occupational habit, but he was going to check on her before going back to his nightly wanderings.

He was just a few feet away from her when he noticed two things. One, she was breathing way too fast – either she was having an asthma attack or a panic one – and two, he knew her. She was the attractive young woman from Court, Rose Tyler.

He rushed to her side then, his hands showing up, so she would know he meant no harm. Nevertheless, she jumped back, sitting up hastily when she saw him.

A strangled yelp left her lips when she looked up at him, her eyes wide rounded with panic and fear. He noticed she had recognised him, but he couldn’t fathom why she appeared to be so shaken by him.

With his hands still showing up, he kneeled down in front of her.

“I want to help ye.” He told her, but he wasn’t sure she was listening to him or even hearing anything at the moment. “Sssh, ssh, sssh” He tried to soothed her. “Rose? Ye need to calm down, otherwise ye’re going to pass out.”

She appeared to be a little more focused on him, but her breathing was still shallow and rapid.

“Look at me, all right?” He requested. An odd noise – half sob, half chuckle – came out of her. She felt forward, either dizzy on in pain – he didn’t know. Hardy took her by her upper arms by an automatic reflex. “Are ye asthmatic? Are ye in pain?” He asked her while trying to remain calm. She shook her head slowly. That was good, a panic attack he could deal with.

Still grabbing her by the arms, he forced her to raise the head and look at him, then he started to take deep and slow gulps of air. “Come on, breath with me.” He urged her encouragingly. She took a few shaky inhalations before he began to count them.

It took a while but her breathing became slower.

Despite the improvement, Hardy noticed that as the same time her inhalations became regular, her eyes filled up with tears, rolling unforgivable blatant down her cheeks.

“You must think I’m bonkers.” She said some time after. She had sat back again, and was rubbing her eyes with the back of her hands. He had dropped his hands to his knees, studying her. She didn’t look insane to him, she looked in pain.

“I think sufferin’ is often mistaken for madness.” He pondered.

He went through his jacket’s pockets feeling her gaze upon him. He offered her a tissue, meting her eyes. There was a knowing expression on her eyes, like she had found something on him she already knew was there.

Hardy couldn’t understand why, but something in the way she stared at him, made him uneasy. Trying to shake her inquisitive gaze off him, he got up hastily and far less gracefully than he’d like it, then offered his hand to her. She examined it carefully before finally took it.

She turned around and began to walk slowly out of the beach. She kept throwing stares over her shoulder, as if waiting for him to join her. So he fell into her pace and together they strolled back towards the town.

At the moment they reached the road, they were received by a blast of cold wind. Rose zipped her blue leather jacket up to her chin.

“I’ll walk you back.” He offered. She looked up surprised.

“You don’t…” She interrupted herself, fussing nervously with her hair. “I’m not staying in Broadchurch.” She confessed in the end.

He scrutinized her, there was more than twenty miles to the next town, surely she couldn’t walk so much.

“Where are ye staying?”

“There is a nice inn near the court.” She answered, shrinking her shoulders. He frowned, she couldn’t walk so far in the middle of the night.

“Wait, weren’t ye with Miller and Claire tonight?” He questioned her.

She nodded, averting her eyes without explaining anything else.

“Didn’t they take a cab?” He insisted.

“They did” She admitted. “It just… I felt like walking. I reckon it wasn’t the most brilliant idea.”

“Why they let ye!?” He was bewildered by both Miller and Miss Tyler’s foolishness.

“They were _occupied_.” She emphasized.

“Occupied.” He noticed her annoyance at his insistence, but he couldn’t stop himself.

“They hooked up with some blokes.” She finally admitted.

“Really?” His voice raised an octave, but he had troubles picturing Miller picking up random lads in a pub.

“Is that so shocking?” Rose asked.

“For Miller?” He questioned, more to himself than to her. “Very. Completely out of character, in fact.”

“Well, if I’m not mistaken, her circumstances have changed quite a lot lately.” The blonde countered back, as if she was trying to stood up for Miller’s behaviour against him.

“Sure. I was just surprised, not judging her.” He explained to the young woman. Miller was his “partner” after all. Miss Tyler nodded and they continued their stroll in silence.

He was actually trying to refrain himself from asking her why she wasn’t shagging with some bloke too, except she wasn’t a suspect or a witness and it was really none of his business. Nevertheless, his interest was piqued.

“What about you? Why aren’t you hooking up with some lad?” Hardy finally blurted out. Between curiosity and politeness, the first always won him over every bloody time.

She turned her head and observed him in an intense manner he couldn’t decipher.

“I’m not really into one night stands myself.” She replied looking away. She seemed pensive, so he waited. “It’s never how you reckon is going to be.”

“Bad experience?” He encouraged her. They were entering Broadchurch’s main street, the sun was beginning to rise, but there was no one yet to be see on the town, except for them. The woman shook her head, in what he took as a negative answer.

“Everyone always think it will be sexy and pleasant, that you won’t need to be ashamed about nothing cos you won’t see that person again.” She elaborated, glancing everywhere but at him. He wondered if it was an embarrassing matter for her, or if she felt uncomfortable talking to him about that subject, and that was why she wouldn’t look at him. “But that’s not how it works.” She continued. “It’s awkward, phony in a way, plus with certain blokes it’s not even enjoyable.”

“Yeah, I bet.” He scratched his beard pondering her words.

“You disagree.” She assumed.

“Not quite. I reckon you’ve made some good points.”

“But?”

“But sometimes people just need or want physical contact.” He knew the feeling very well.

“I know.” She agreed, hugging herself. Hardy’s trained eye read into it as an involuntary protective gesture.

This woman intrigued him, her backstory didn’t fit in with her demeanours. She should be careless and relaxed in that particular way, young, wealthy folk always were. Except she wasn’t. She had a sad semblance, mournful even, like she had lost something important.

Or maybe he was just projecting.

They had arrived to the hotel’s front door, where the cab he had texted while they were leaving the beach, was parked by. The cabbie waved at them and Hardy nodded rigidly, which the driver apparently understood. The DI turned to the blonde crossing his arms over his chest.

“It will take you to the inn.” He nodded towards the car. She looked surprised.

Her eyes were still red-rimmed and puffy, a remind of the state she had been less than half an hour ago. Her hair was a mess due to the sea breeze, her make-up was smeared on some places, but despite all of that, he found her beautiful. He wondered what her scars were, the thing that had bring her down that night.

He had found lately that broken and rebuilt things — survivors — had a special beauty, a strength quality that appealed to him. He couldn’t get out of his broken state, he was paralysed, but he watched Miller and the Latimers try every day. Hardy suspected Rose Tyler was the same.

“Thank you.” She whispered. She squeezed his hand lightly and then walked quickly to the car without looking back.

He stayed there until the car disappeared from his sight.

 

 

TBC...


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to split this chapter in two and I'm still editing the the second part, so I'll try to update next week, but I don't know if I will be able to.  
> I also have tried to keep Hardy in character but I'm not sure if I have managed... I'd like to hear your opinions. Hope you enjoy.

 

The last piece of the puzzle was in place. In case the surgery went south — let be honest, with his luck it might well be — everything would be taken care of. In two days, his role on the Latimer’s case will be over. The Sandbrooke case was on Miller’s hands now, she would finish what he couldn’t — She was at his place right then with the case’s documents.

He had also tried one last time, to mend things with his wife — ex-wife — she was adamant against them coming back together. It probably would have never worked out anyway, but he had to try. And Daisy, he missed her, much more than any other thing he had in his previous life, but he also knew he didn’t deserve her. Well, she was taken care of now too, he didn’t have much, some savings mainly, it will go to her when she will be eighteen.

Hardy closed his eyes, enjoying the breeze coming from the sea to the very top of the hill where he was standing. He had left the solicitor house with mixed feelings of completion and impending doom. He wouldn’t stale the operation anymore, whatever must happen, it will be in two days.

He could be dead in two days.

A crunchy sound made him open his eyes and turn around.

A few feet away, a woman had stopped and was looking right at him. He needed a minute to realize she was [Miss Tyler](http://www.polyvore.com/walking_in_wee_hours/set?id=195515902). She waved at him, and she was about to keep walking when his feet started to move towards her.

If he was going to be dead in two days, he could at least let himself fantasize with this woman. It will never happen, it never would have, even if he wasn’t dying and his career wasn’t finished. But a dying man might afford to indulge stupid fantasies. He didn’t have anything to lose anyway.

“Are you wandering in the middle of the night again?” He greeted her.

“Says the kettle.” She smirked, the corner of her mouth challenging him. “I’ve brought my car this time, though.” She pointed behind her in a general direction. He nodded, approving the advancement since the last time.

“Do you…” He wanted to know if she cared for his company, but he reformulated the question in the last moment. Just in case she refused, the blow against his ego would be softer. “Mind if I join you?”

“Sure.” She nodded quickly, and the small smile on her lips was sincerer and brighter than any other he had watched on her face before.

They walked in silence, the waves crashing on the cliffs below them, and their steps on the ground the only sounds. Usually people got uncomfortable during these silences, he was used to take advantage of them, make them anxious, sweating, wanting to confess. Rose wasn’t uneasy though, if anything she seemed to appreciate it. She kept stealing glances at him when she thought he wasn’t looking. And there was a special quality about them, there weren’t curious nor nosy, instead he would describe it as soothing, as she would relish upon his presence. It made no sense.

They were near the road when her posture and expression changed. She shook her head and turned to him amused by something.

“You must be glad reporters don’t use to be around here at this hour.”

“I’m glad when they are nowhere in general.” He stated, puzzled by the unexpected topic of conversation.

“Walking with me in the wee hours, planning cunning ways to frame Ellie’s husband so you two can keep rolling in the hay…”

Of course, she had heard that outrageous lie fabricated by Joe Miller’s defender.

“That’s…” He couldn’t found a word to describe how preposterous the sole idea was. “…horseshit.”

She laughed. Hardy startled by her unexpected burst of laugh.

“Blimey! You must be a wet dream for tabloids.” She was looking at him, a frisky smile on her face, her tongue poking out between her teeth and a spark of amusement on her eyes.

He had to stop walking so his breath could catch up with his heart. His blood rushed south and he only could think what a lecherous old man he was.

He had never felt attracted to younger women, sure maybe five or six year his junior he had. But he had never understood how men of forty or fifty could find sexually appealing a twenty years old lass. They were kids to him. Which was why he felt so unbalanced by his attraction to Rose Tyler. He wasn’t sure how old she was, but he reckoned he was more than ten years her senior, twelve, maybe even fifteen, and judging by how his body reacted to her in general and to her smile in particular, he wasn’t keen to find out the exact amount of years.

“What about you?” He asked her, trying to resume their conversation. “Wouldn’t the tabloids enjoy a picture of you walking with an unknown fellow?”

“Oh they would love to.” Her mirth was contagious. “They only ever manage to take ones with co-workers. With a mysterious bloke in the middle of the night? I’d be expecting triplets by the next afternoon.”

She managed to crack a smile on his face.

There was a comfortable silence after that, during which they kept walking aimlessly. At some point, Rose looked up to the sky, the first purple and orange sunrays were beginning to appear in the far east. She glanced back at the detective, despite his previous smile, his eyes seemed tired and his shoulders shagged. She wondered how many hours did he sleep every night.

She bit her lip trying to decide if it would be too rude to ask him about it.

“So… are you insomniac?” She tried to sound casual. Nevertheless, when he turned to look at her, a deep frown had appeared between his eyes. “It’s the second time we found each other before the crack of dawn.” She explained.

He huffed, she thought he might had been bothered by the questioning, but it was actually her sharp eyes what had made him feel thrown.

Rose didn’t say anything else. It felt daft when he wouldn’t answer. But after a few minutes walking in tense silence, he did.

“I have… nightmares.” He explained. His body was wired and strung up, ready to snap. As if she had forced him into a confession.

Rose nodded slowly, deep in thought but well aware of his discomfort.

“I used to have very bad ones myself.” She shared in return. “They tone down in time, or that’s what people keep telling me.” She shrugged doubtful. “I still have them sometimes.”

Rose could feel Hardy’s keen eyes over her, assessing her.

“What were yours about?” He asked, not rude but direct enough to make her lose her pace.

“I…” she faltered, not knowing how to put it into words. How to explain that in her nightmares she kept losing her grip on the lever, or she kept going back to a beach in Norway. “I… lost someone.” She finally admitted.

“I suppose… I did too.” He conceded pensively. He hadn’t told anyone about his nightmares. He had never been the sharing-your-feelings-type and though he didn’t actually know Rose, he could sense a connection between them. There was no discomfort or shame on telling her and he wished he could rationalise why, but he couldn’t.

“I found her.” He confessed. “The girl from Sandbrooke, Pipa.”

Rose was shocked into silence, she realised he meant he had found her dead.

Hardy could feel Rose’s eyes on him, but she was neither pressing him into talk nor asking, which may have been why he went on.

“Whoever killed her left her near a stream and she had been in the water for a few days when we found her.” He explained. “But at the moment, well I didn’t know, so I jumped into the water to reach for her.”

Rose felt compelled to say she was sorry, but she had heard it often enough to know it usually sounded empty. What she actually wanted was to touch him, grab his hand or pat his shoulder, but somehow she reckoned he might have not appreciated it.

“Is that… Is that why you are still investigating it?” She asked him, even though she had a feeling that it wasn’t, not because of the nightmares.

“No. That’s not it” He shook his head. “It… it was my fault that we didn’t catch the killer.”

“I know that’s not true.” She whispered. She had read the article where he confessed he had covered for the DS who lost the evidence.

“Oh, do ye?” He spat sarcastic, his brogue thicker by the anger. Rose stared at his face, ire was on his features like a mask. Someone else had probably thought it was directed at her, but she knew it was mostly against himself.

The want of touching him came back to her. As if with her touch she could take away some of his pain. Rose refrained herself again because, unlike _him_ , Alec didn’t seem like a touchy person. Nonetheless, her fingers itched with the need to comb his hair away from his forehead, or smooth his frown away.

He hadn’t spoken anymore after his outburst and his mind seemed to be somewhere else. Rose was better with her body expression than with words, but she wanted to reach him, bring him back to her.

“If it were me…” She began, unsure. “I’d would prefer someone who is having nightmares because he couldn’t find the truth than those who already have move on.” She stated. He stopped walking and turned his head to stare at her in disbelief and awe. “I’d want someone like you to fight for me.”

She didn’t realise until a while later, when something similar to wonder flickered on his eyes, that though she had been thinking on the girls from Sandbrooke, what she had said could be interpreted as something quite different. She felt the blood rushing to her face, but she didn’t try to correct herself. She did try to remember that she didn’t know the man before her, no matter how familiar the pain in his eyes were.

Hardy noticed once more how particularly this woman looked at him. How, when she presumably thought he was unaware, she kept stealing glances at him. But being a detective meant, he was almost always aware of his surroundings. How there was a bit of awe and self-reassurance on her eyes, almost like she couldn’t believe he was there. Which made no sense, because there were virtual strangers.

It bothered him the same way contradictory evidences irritated him on a case, twirling around his brain until he found a plausible explanation. The solution to this particular contradiction presented itself the minute he remembered their first meeting, not at the café or in the loo, but in the Court Hall.

_“Doctor?”_

She had mistaken him for someone else.

Hardy took Rose’s appearance in, her arms crossed over her jumper, her eyes away from him, staring into the upcoming sunrise.

“Who do I remind you of?”

 

TBC...

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